The Lottery
by aptasi
Summary: There's a tradition carried out in Hogwarts, every ten years, on Halloween. Who will be chosen and what will happen? ADMM. Might not be what it sounds like. Read the whole thing before you judge. Unless you don't like ADMM. Then, there's not much point re
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: There's a tradition carried out in Hogwarts, every ten years, on Halloween. Who will be chosen and what will happen? ADMM. Might not be what it sounds like. Read the whole thing before you judge. Unless you don't like ADMM. Then, there's not much point reading it at all.

**Disclaimer:** I have no rights to Harry Potter, or "the Lottery" by Shirley Jackson (either the short story or the play), from which the concept for this story is so shamelessly taken. This story is written merely for recreational purposes and no copyright infringement is intended. I apologize for any unintended mistakes.

**Hogwarts Lottery**

"I don't like this," Minerva McGonagall muttered to herself as she sat in the staff meeting, "I don't like this at all." She shook her head for extra emphasis, but no one seemed to notice. They were all focused on the reality in front of them. Tomorrow was Halloween, and they would have to perform the lottery ritual, as they did every ten years. Few of the teachers were looking forward to it.

"We have no choice," Professor Trelawney whispered in her usual overdone melodramatic tone, "Once again; the great tradition demands it, as it has every decade since the founding of the school, and will forever more. We mere mortal must obey. Who are we to dispute the workings of fate, of chance, of the eternal tradition? Truly we must" she announced with great flourish, "For who can dispute the wisdom of the past and future?"

"Albus," Minerva asked her husband imploringly, gesturing at Sybill's exaggerations "do we really have to do this? I don't mean to dispute with the founders, but this makes no sense."

"End the lottery?" Sibyll asked, "How dare you even think of such a thing? The school might not survive. You have no respect for the stars, Minerva, and fate will destroy you for it. See," she thundered, "that you do not bring the rest of us with you."

"Sibyll" Albus said sternly, "That's enough…"

"Of course, it is natural to be afraid, Minerva" Sibyll interrupted Albus, "Why perhaps even now you can sense as I can. It comes; it comes. Ever closer, with no escape."

Sibyll paused for dramatic effect, and was surprised to find that for once her theatrics were working. The mood in the staffroom was visibly tense and solemn. Unusually, she had the entire staff hanging on her every word, and it was a powerful feeling.

"Your name…" Sibyll stage whispered to Minerva, "I see your name."

"Well, in that case," Minerva snapped, "I know I won't be chosen."

The staff room broke out in whispers, which quickly turned to all out shouts. Everyone began to argue about whether Sibyll really had the power to predict this sort of thing, and what kind of trouble would be caused if Minerva talked Albus into ignoring the ritual.

"Everyone!" Albus Dumbledore announced, "I don't like this any better than you do, but it is necessary. There is some kind of enchantment on the box, and I do not know what the castle will do if we ignore the tradition. Please, submit your names."

"Poppy Pomfrey." The nurse walked over and dropped her name into a black painted box, sitting on a stool.

"Xiomara Hooch." Madame Hooch wandered over, somewhat nervously.

"Rubeus Hagrid." Hagrid's shoulders were hunched, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he too dropped his name in.

"Severus Snape." The potions master showed no visible change of expression, but then, he rarely did.

"Sibyll Trelawney." The 'seer' walked to the box, paused for effect, and then dramatically threw her name in.

"Minerva McGonagall." Minerva dourly placed her name in the box, scowling at Sibyll.

Dumbledore continued calling names, until every person who worked at Hogwarts was called. One by one, the Hogwarts staff walked to the sinister black box, and dropped in their names. The box devoured each name in a flash of green flames. Lastly, Dumbledore dropped his own name in and told the staff. "Everyone be sure to come first thing tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

As Harry, Ron and Hermione prepared for the festivities on the ground the next morning, only Hermione did not seem happy. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, in a distinctly ornery posture. Perhaps it was because she idolized her teachers, but Hermione could not see the point of the day's ritual. Nowhere could she find it in her to like it.

"Good morning!" Said George, with great gusto, as he skipped towards the trio, followed closely by his brother, both with huge grins on their faces, "Great day for it, isn't it?" He asked gesturing to the cloudy sky and the fog that covered the grounds.

"It's freezing," Harry said pointedly, drawing his cloak a little tighter around him.

"Well, it sort of fits, doesn't it" Fred commented, "What's the matter Hermione?"

"It's just," Hermione muttered, "Doesn't this seem, well, a bit cruel to you."

"Naw," George said, "It's tradition. Mom and Dad did it when they were in school. You got yours yet?" He asked the trio.

"No," Hermione said firmly, "I'm not throwing one."

"You could deliberately miss, if it makes you feel better." Harry suggested. "Or not throw hard. I don't think it'll really make any difference though."

Hermione shook her head, "I am absolutely not throwing one."

"Suit yourself," Fred said, "I'm betting I can hit whoever it is straight on." He flexed his Beater's muscles, and mimed throwing something overhand at his brother in slow motion, "He shoots."

"Oh," exaggerated George, pretending to fall back and clutching his chest, "Well, hit. Well, hit."

Hermione glared at them, looking rather upset.

"Just throw one as hard and straight as you can," Fred instructed Ron and Harry, "That's the only way to do it. Hogwarts tradition!"

"Look on the bright side," Ron added cheerfully, "Maybe it'll be Snape!"

"Albus, do we really have to do this?" Minerva asked her husband gently, as they carried the box outside, to the inside of a circle of students that had formed around them.

"Yes we do, Minerva," He whispered, "Where's that Gryffindor courage?"

She took a deep breath and saw that the rest of the staff had arrived and was waiting at the stool. "Alight." She whispered.

Albus pulled her into a hug, "You know I love you, don't you?" He murmured in her ear.

"Yes," she answered, "Let's get this over with."

Albus walked to the center of the circle and held his arms up for attention. The students and teachers fell silent immediately in anticipation. He went to the box and opened the lid, drawing out a name.

"Minerva McGonagall" he read, dourly. He glanced at Minerva to see if she had heard, and sure enough, she was backing away, her face taunt and vulnerable. He tried to catch her eye, mouth some sort of apology, anything, but she was not looking at him.

The staff quickly drew back into the circle of students, leaving Minerva alone in the center. The circle pulsed around her, each one looking for an opening, but all hesitant to be the first. Minerva had to fight the urge to run away, though she knew there was nowhere to go. Gryffindor courage, she reminded herself. It this was going to happen, she would face it as bravely as she knew how.

Suddenly, Severus broke out of the circle and threw at her. He hit her on the side of the head, and she felt liquid run down the side of her face. She fell to her knees and desperately tried to shield her face, as the school rushed in on her, with blood-curdling screams…preparing to


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary**: There's a tradition carried out in Hogwarts, every ten years, on Halloween. Who will be chosen and what will happen? ADMM. Might not be what it sounds like. Read the whole thing before you judge. Unless you don't like ADMM. Then, there's not much point reading it at all.

**Disclaimer:** I have no rights to Harry Potter, or "the Lottery" by Shirley Jackson (either the short story or the play), from which the concept for this story is so shamelessly taken. This story is written merely for recreational purposes and no copyright infringement is intended. I apologize for any unintended mistakes.

**Chapter Two**

…Pelt her with water Balloons. It was all Minerva could do not to squeal at each fresh blast of icy water. Had they chilled the water ahead or just let it sit outside all night? She half-expected ice cubes.

The cold wind cut through Minerva's robes, which were quickly becoming soaked through. Hit after hit sent splashes of cold water through her hair, down her robes, into her eyes. She forced herself to stay where she was, and not try to run or dodge. She didn't want to give the Slytherins the satisfaction of knowing how cold and miserable she was. The balloons came repeatedly, with no pauses. The late October frigid air chilled her, and she could hear the students egging each other on. The wind seemed to pick up, and it felt even colder. Minerva did the only thing she could do; wait for it to be over. Merlin, it was cold.

Finally, the water balloon hits slowed down and eventually stopped. Minerva dared to look up, and saw Albus walking towards her. She shivered as she knelt in the new pool of water, saturated to the skin.

"Are they d-done?" she asked. In answer, he removed her cloak and pulled her up, so he could wrap her in it. Not that it did much good. The cloak just soaked through too. "I'm so c-cold" Minerva shivered.

"You were very brave, my dear." He told her, looking at the slight figure before him. Around her, Minerva heard the students break into a kind of grudging applause.

"If I f-fell down and s-shielded like that in a b-battle, I'd be d-dead in two s-seconds." She retorted, unsatisfied.

"Never the less." He said. "You were very brave." He gently took one hand and picked pieces of balloons from her hair. She heard some of the students laugh.

"The s-students will be t-talking about this f-forever." Minerva muttered, glancing at the circle of children who were staring at her, unsure whether to be concerned or amused.

"I suppose. Right now though, you need a hot shower, dinner, and a warm fire. The house elves have everything ready in our rooms." He wrapped his arm around her, careless of the cold water, put his arm under hers to steady it, and gently walked her to their rooms.

"Good time, wasn't it Hermione?" Asked Ron cheerfully.

"It was horrible Ron," Hermione said, looking after her favorite teacher. "You can't tell me you liked seeing her humiliated like that."

"Well, it was kind of funny," Ron began, only to cut off when he saw Hermione's glare.

"Hermione," Harry said, "She's an Order member. That means she's strong. She fought in the war, and I'm sure that was much worse. She'll be fine. Back to assigning three scrolls of homework before you can say Quidditch!"

"I hope so," Hermione answered, glancing after McGonagall worriedly.

Minerva came out of the shower, wrapped in her dressing gown. Albus had the house elves pre-warm that too (he thought of everything). She curled up in front of the fire (for once it was not connected to the floo network) and tried to let the warmness seep into her. Being similar to her cat Animagus form, Minerva hated water and cold. The afternoon had been extremely uncomfortable for her, and all she wanted was to feel warm and relaxed.

Albus knocked and entered their room, bearing a tray with two bowls of hot soup and two mugs, tea for her and hot chocolate for him.

"S-shouldn't you be in the G-great Hall?" She asked.

"No," he replied, "I should be with you. Do you want to hear what everyone talked about at dinner?"

"Let me g-guess." She answered sardonically.

"Your lions were very proud of you. They didn't expect to be, but their loyalty came out. They spent most of dinner talking about how bravely you took the drenching. The Weasley twins especially seemed rather proud that their Head of House did so well. The consensus was that they would have rather soaked Snape, but at least you didn't give the Slytherins anything to laugh over." He told her, as she hurriedly drank the tea and ate the soup.

Albus continued, hoping to make her feel better. "The Slytherins were rather disappointed. They had expected you to run or scream. They were especially upset that Severus' shot did not have more effect. The other two houses are torn between amusement and admiration. Ms. Granger was especially worried about you. She seemed rather distressed about the whole incident. Charming girl. Even sent some slippers with me, for you. Said she got them for Christmas but liked her old ones better and never took them out of their packaging. They were supposed to be for really cold weather, so she thought you could use them."

"T-that's n-nice of h-her." Minerva shivered, taking the proffered slippers from Albus, and slipping them onto her feet. They were incredibly warm, she thought, making a mental note to give Ms. Granger ten points when she saw her next. Maybe twenty.

"Are you still cold?" He asked with concern. "You shouldn't still be shivering."

"Y-Yes" she said, her hands shaking. "I f-feel l-like a d-drowned cat."

"You kind of are, my dear." He said gently, putting his arm around her.

"I-I'm tired. L-Let's go r-rest." She whispered, leaning her head up against him.

He nodded, and gently stroked her hair.

They moved to the bedroom and lay down next to each other. Under the blankets, Minerva finally felt warm. The comforter felt soft and cozy. The toll of the day started to catch up to her, and she felt drowsily ready to sleep. Without thinking, Minerva instinctively moved closer to her husband. Albus wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled close to the source of heat. Here she was safe. Nothing, whether it was the Dark Lord or the frigid water of some silly Halloween ritual could reach her here. Instead, in this place, Minerva was safe and loved. Lazily, she let herself dream and remember happy memories, the day she had fallen in love with Albus, his proposal, the wedding

Albus looked down at his sleeping wife and whispered, "I love you Minerva. You look delightful in water balloon plastic."

"Albus," She whispered.

"Yes," He answered, leaning into her.

"Kiss me already."

"Yes dear."

The End.


End file.
